Steering by the Stars
by girlshapedlovedrug
Summary: When Gemma Doyle moves to New York, her life changes. University isn't everything that she thought it would be; there are dangers lurking everywhere. She thinks she has finally escaped the realms, but has she? My version of the fourth book of the series
1. Chapter 1: New Beginnings

It is my first day attending the university

It is my first day attending the university. Butterflies flit about my stomach, and I command them to settle… but to no avail. I'm nervous about what's to come. In fact, I'm actually afraid. Hah. I remind myself that there are far worse things to be afraid of – dark monsters whose main goal is to gobble you up and feast on your blood. The thought brings shivers to my body, but it cures me of my silliness. I leave the small flat and set towards a new beginning.

It is an easy walk, and I bask in the sunshine. My petticoats twirl around me in the slight breeze, and I laugh. Nobody turns to stare. There are no whispers behind hands about my "ignorant behavior". I want to shout for joy but instead, I keep walking, a true smile on my face.

And then I tilt it towards the sun. Bright light floods my eyes, and I briefly see an image before me: an Indian boy holding out his hand, beckoning me to him. I want to embrace him, but the sunshine's too bright. My day's been tainted already, and my good mood turned into something fowl. I miss Kartik. How could I prance around?

The path to the university veers and faces the water. I see Lady Liberty, resplendent in a flowing dress, lighting the way for passengers to come. She is my reason for being here, in America. Opportunities here are endless thanks to her. Trying to rid my mind of Kartik and stay joyful, I curtsy to Lady Liberty, dropping my head daintily, just as I had to the Queen of England weeks ago. I almost expect to feel a tap on my shoulder, signaling me to stand and mingle among others who were accepted among her society. But there is no tap, and I realize that I am accepted in America no matter what.

When I rise, a boy of about eighteen stands before me. Unruly brown hair shapes his soft face. Dark, questioning blue eyes stare into green. His lips stretch into a grin, and I blush, all at once realizing what I've done.

Before I can apologize, he says, "I believe you've mistaken me for royalty, miss." He sweeps into a proper bow. Foolish, foolish Gemma. He takes my hand in his and, boldly as he pleases, places his lips on my palm.

I wrench it away from him quickly. "Now listen here -" I start, but he interrupts, and I wonder if it will forever be this difficult to be heard in America.

"Now, now, that is not how you speak to royalty." The boy waves a finger before my face, and I want to slap it like an annoying fly. "You must address me by my proper station. Duke Colwell of Brooklyn, at your service," He extends a hand, and I can only suppose he wants me to shake it. Instead, I bustle past him.

"I shall be late for class with all this dilly-dallying," I mutter, knowing fully that class doesn't start for another fifteen minutes. Truth be told, I left so early because I was afraid that I would become lost. However, the walk is short, and I remind myself to leave later and escape embarrassing moments like this happening again.

I pass a beautiful park on my way to the university. I want to stop and have a look around, but if I move from my path, "Duke Colwell" will surely question my endeavors. Indeed, only a moment after I left him, I found him by my side again, hands in his pockets, whistling. I keep my head high and ignore him. I've no time for hooligans.

He follows me into the vast courtyard which welcomes us to Brooklyn University. He follows me into the largest building on campus, which holds half of the classes. He even follows me to class, by which time I am fuming. Before turning the doorknob and entering class, I turn to him and say, "Have you nothing better to do than follow me around?"

He raises his eyebrows, that silly grin still present. "Following you? Please. I'm only going to class." With one last wink, he disappears within the classroom. He takes my hand and leads me to a group of desks in the far right side of the classroom. At once, I am amazed by its size; at the center of the room is a large blackboard and a podium, a desk with many papers splayed across it, and the American flag, waving happily above the students. There are portraits of people I've never seen before hanging on the walls. The desks are not like desks at all, but rather benches with small nooks underneath them for storage of books. This is university. I sigh. I'd be able to appreciate it more if this imbecile wasn't dragging me around like a five-year-old's favorite doll.

"Here she is, everyone. Feast your eyes on the new exchange student!" My face burns. How could he? There are few people in the classroom, as we're early, but those who are here turn to give me a quizzical look. I long to hide under one of the benches. I am starting to hate this "Duke" already.

"Sir Colwell," I say, swallowing angry. "I beg you not to make such a scene."

"_Sir _Colwell? She really does treat people like royalty! Tell me, how was life in England?" A boy with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail caresses my chin. I recoil, and he turns me toward him, so all I can do is stare into his deep green eyes. I cringe away, and the group laughs. I wonder whatever possessed me to come to New York in the first place.

"Robin! Don't torture her so!" I hear a female voice amid the male crowd, and then I see the person the voice belongs to. Her dark black hair hangs limp and long across her shoulders, her big brown eyes wide. "Really, embarrassing women is not a sport, though you seem to treat it so. This young lady needs a proper welcome to America. Thanks to you lot, she probably has a horrid opinion of our country already." She extends her hand. "My name is Emily Hawthorne. I apologize for their rudeness." She sends the group of boys a death glare, but they only laugh in her face.

I don't know what to say. I'm in shock. I must be. Never before has a boy I hardly know touched me so boldly, spoke to me so freely. It was very rude. I open my mouth to thank the girl in front of me but nothing domes out.

"Oh dear," Emily says. "Are you okay? Did Seth… do anything to you?"

"Seth?"

"I saw you walking in with him. He didn't try to charm himself into your dress with petty one-liners, did he?"

Seth. Duke Colwell. I turn towards him, and he gives me a wink. I do not know what to say.

Thankfully, Emily has enough words for the both of us. "Oh, you poor thing! Here, we must sit away from those horrible monsters." She leads me to a section of desks not far away from the men. A group of girls sit there, head bent over notebooks, conversing. As Emily is about to introduce me to them, a door slams shut at the front of the classroom. A graying man hobbles into the center of the room, a long parchment in his hand. The class silences as he clears his throat. I remember that I am in university. I'd almost forgotten.

"Hello, and welcome to British Literature 001. We will be reading and studying many books and authors renowned in England. There will be no -" he coughs, and I hear a snicker, "no disruptions in my class." He drones on, and I find it hard to concentrate on anything but his face, which is stretched and gaunt. He looks to be eighty years old. I wonder why he's still teaching. Shouldn't he retire? I'm afraid he will drop dead before my eyes.

Emily leans over to me and the professor takes no notice. "I really am sorry about their behavior," she says, flicking a finger towards the boys, who are pretending to be fascinated in what the professor is saying. "They don't mean harm. Everyone's excited about the new exchange student; Seth just wanted to be the first to meet her. He's quite the gloater."

"Well, it's not like he found me," I say, thinking back to how we met. I _curtsied _to him. I'm such a louse.

"Oh, don't be modest." She says. Her expression reminds me of Felicity, with her mischievous ways. I wonder if Emily is anything like her. "Seth finds a way to every girl's heart one way or another, only to mangle it and leave it broken. Even so, he has at least ten girls fawning over him daily." I see bitterness and hurt in her eyes, and I wonder why. And then I remind myself that it's not my place to ask, not my business to know.

I feign interest in the professor's words so I don't have to respond to Emily's comments. She doesn't seem to mind, as she's lost in her thoughts already. I am, too. Already, I'm being dragged into drama. Will I ever escape from it?

The professor introduces himself as Professor Gray. I eye his graying hair, his molted skin, and approve. He speaks about what we will study, and scribbles on the board, telling us what to bring for the next class. At the end of class, he instructs everyone to go home and read. He does not specify _what _we have to read. I am confused. Someone raises their hand, and I feel that my question will be answered.

It is one of the cronies that hangs around Seth. He is scrawnier than the others, and he wears glasses. He pushes them against his forehead nervously. "Professor? What is the parchment for?"

From my desk, I see the Professor's furrowed eyebrows as he looks about. I can hear his thought process clearly. _Parchment? What parchment? This child must be seeing things, for there is no parchment – Oh!_ He jumps as his eyes set on the paper in his hand. Trying to hide his embarrassment, he says, "Ah! Thank you for reminding me! Role call!"

Everyone is called save for me. Emily answers with a crisp "Present!", and Seth exclaims, "Here!" when his name is called. I find that the scrawny boy's name is Matthew Hamilton. The boy who cupped my chin so willingly is Robin Clark. When the professor reaches the end of the list, he squints. "We also have with us an exchange student from England." He says slowly. "Gemma Doyle of London, pleases stand."

I do, warily, and the whole class turns toward me. A blush rises on my cheeks, until my face matches my hair. "Everyone please give Gemma a warm welcome." A few mumbles of "Hi, Gemma," follow, and Professor Gray seems satisfied. "Alright, well, now that we know that everyone is here… you all can leave." I am still standing. I grab my books. Emily follows me as I make my way towards the park. I find that I do not mind.

A/N: Hi. I am rusty in writing fanfiction, as I haven't in ages and that was only with mangas and video games, but I believe that this one is off to a good start. I am inspired by the story of the Gemma Doyle series and I refuse to see it end. Please R I'd be very grateful to hear your comments! Thanks Allie aka girlshapedlovedrug.


	2. Chapter 2: Masochism

_Gemma…_

It is only his voice that I hear. In my dreams, that is all that remains. I reach toward the sound, longing for him to hold me in his arms as he tells me that everything will be alright. I want to touch his face and memorize the exact contours; I never want to forget. My hands grope in the fog; I know he's there, he's there somewhere close… but why isn't he _here_, next to me? In my dream, I weep. The only comfort offered is the sound of his voice in the wind, repeating my name over and over again.

"You're so cruel." I say, hoping against hope that he will become outraged, and finally reveal himself. Instead, the sound drifts away. The fog lifts, and I find that I am on a beach. Sharp shells cover the shore, but I am safe in the sand. I am not clothed, but somehow it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except for him. "Come to me. Please." I weep. The voice fades into the waves, until it is only a memory.

I stand and wipe the sand off of my bare skin. I tilt my head towards the shore, wondering how far it is. Only a few yards or so. Without thinking, I begin my trek. As I reach the waves slowly, the sound of his voice whispering my name magnifies. When I make it to the shore, he will be there. I know it. I begin to run, run towards him. Except, at the same time, I feel like I am running _away _from something entirely different. My breath becomes jagged, and I have to stop to catch my breath. When I look up, I see that I have made it to the shore.

And there he is. His hair is wet, the locks matted to his face. He bobs in the water slowly, waving to me. "Gemma, come on! The water's warm!" Ecstatic, I step into the water. A searing pain shoots through my leg like a bullet. I fall, and I hear laughter. A conch shell had pierced my foot. I clench my teeth and pull it out, wincing in pain. Blood oozes from the gash, but I don't care. I am so close to him. So close…

I take another step, and cry out in pain. I find that my other foot was hit by an even sharper shell. I fight back the tears that threaten to fall when I take it out. He is laughing, still. I want to yell at him. I want to kiss him.

Logic and longing mix into one, and I remember a saying that I had heard many times. "Love can overcome any obstacle." Under my breath, I repeat it, over and over again. The mantra takes up every space in my mind until pain is but a memory. I take another step. Another. Every time I do, a new shell pierces my skin. I don't feel it. I don't feel anything but love. "Keep going, Gemma," Kartik calls. I've heard of dreams in which the dreamer runs toward someone, and yet they get farther away. That is not the case here. Kartik is so close now that I can feel his breath.

Right before I am close enough to touch him, the ground falls beneath me, revealing a ditch. I am fine. I know how to swim. I kick towards him, but when I do a sharp spasm of pain shoots through me and I scream my agony. Kartik laughs and laughs and laughs. Tears sting my eyes. I look around me and notice that the beach has become red. The water is clear, and through the blood I can see what's beneath me. Or rather, what isn't. Two stumps replace what should have been my feet. I scream, louder now. In pain and misery and anger at my stupidity. I thrash, not knowing what to do. I smile, though. I am close to Kartik. He will save me. He will make everything alright.

I continue thrashing. "Help!" I yell. I only hear his laughter. Suddenly, I am angry. I want to murder him. I want to grab his throat and strangle him, drown him, anything. Instead, I continue thrashing, until the pain paralyzes me. I sink, down, down, down. I see Kartik's legs kicking healthily in the water, propelling him forward and keeping him alive. I look the other way, and I think I can see hungry crabs crowding around their next meal, their claws clapping. Tonight, they will feast. My foot lays helpless against them on the sand.

I sink further, and the last thing I notice before finally closing my eyes is this: There were no shells.

* * *

When I wake, I am sobbing more than I ever have before. The tears form in a puddle on the ground, and I steer clear of them. I walk into the bathroom, but slowly; I can still feel the pain in my foot, still see that bloody remains of it surrounded by hungry animals. I wash my face, not daring to look into the mirror, afraid of what I will see. I don't take a shower.

There is a knock on the door and I make my way to it, slowly. Whoever is on the other side is not patient. The knocks continue until I open it. At first, I don't recognize the person on the other side of the door. And then I realize. It's Seth Colwell, the rude yet charming boy who was the first to greet me on American soil. He doesn't wait for me to invite him in. Instead, he walks over to my bed and plops onto it.

"You've got a nice place here," he says. I tilt my head away. He did not notice my tear-stricken face, and I will keep it that way.

Struggling to keep my voice calm, I say quietly, "What are you doing here." My voice wavers, and I almost stutter.

"I figured I'd pay you a visit. We're friends, right? Friends hang out together." Friends. Hah! If I was in a better mood, I would tell him not to flatter himself.

"We're acquaintances." I say. "That is all. Now, please l-leave me a-alone." … Bloody hell. The stutters wake in me my despair, and I hope he will heed my advice to leave, knowing all the while that he won't. He is upon me in a second. He turns my face toward mine, and I begin to cry again. His eyes are wide. "You… you should leave." I manage to say through my tears.

He shakes his head. His eyes are still wide. Without saying anything, he pulls me into an embrace. Seth Colwell is holding me. Normally I would be disgusted; I barely know him, and he has no reason to touch me so forwardly. … But, now, I feel comforted. We stand together like that for about five minutes, and I break down. I sob against his chest. I shake, but he holds me tight.

It is a strange experience, being cared for by a stranger.

When we separate, I wipe my tears away. I let out a small, choked laugh. "Your shirt… it's drenched. I'm sorry." He looks at me with his big brown eyes.

"You can drench my shirt anytime you want." He says. And that is how Seth Colwell and I became friends.

**A/N: So... tell me what you think? It's my dream to become a horror/suspense writer, so I figured I could include a little of that in this story. Dreams are important, by the way! Kartik himself believed in them. **


	3. Chapter 3: Urgent Letters

Dearest Gemma,

_Dearest Gemma,_

_I hope you are doing well in America. Is it very different from England? I always associated America with anarchy, chaos; I wonder if my assumptions are true, or if they are just the mindless thoughts of a young girl. Here in France, I am adjusting. I live in a modest dwelling, which oversees a lake. It is very beautiful; oh, how I wish you could see it! At night, I hear the shells massaging the side of the building, and it sounds like… well, breathing. I cannot explain the sensation perfectly, but rest assured that it is a gorgeous sound._

_When boredom strikes, I paint. Ms. Moore may have been an evil witch, but she certainly knew more about art than any other teacher I've had. The sunset over the lake simultaneously calms and inspires me. It's beautiful. How many more times do you want to hear me say it? _

_I've begun to ramble, forgive me. How are you? Are college classes difficult? Please fill me in. I've heard nothing from Ann; no matter how many times I write her, I never receive any replies. Alas, our friend has become so famous that she has forgotten about those who helped her become so! I sincerely hope you have not forgotten me. We should meet some day, perhaps on a holiday if it is convenient for you. I want to show you some of my paintings, and I'm sure you have many stories that you wish to share as well. _

_Write back_

_Felicity_

I hold the letter in my hands. It came this morning by the regular post, the mailman giggling as he handed it to me. Felicity decorated the envelope with colorful drawings of imps, centaurs, and other mystical creatures. Many people, like the mailman, would have thought that she was crazy; however, I have seen these animals in person. I smile when I read it, and wonder how Felicity is doing. I must write back immediately. First, however, I notice a small arrow on the bottom right-hand corner of the page. I turn the paper over, and see her loopy handwriting once again.

_P.S. I've something urgent to disclose with you. I request that you write back immediately, so we can arrange a time to meet. It is of great importance._

What is this about? Brows furrowed, I wonder what could be the matter. A spasm of fear blinds me for a moment. Is it… no, we've had enough trouble with the realms. It couldn't be. Although Felicity did seem secretive, and she certainly is not foolish enough to speak about the realms in a letter, I refuse to believe that the problem has something to do with our other life. We've moved on, both of us, and that is all. Felicity is probably just over exaggerating.

**A/N: It is short, yes, but I haven't written in this style in a while. School is the epitome of evil, don't you agree? Please R/R, and I will love you forever. **


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